The Storms Ice
by Super Vegito 2
Summary: Thurin Baratheon is the second son of Robert and Cersei. How will a new player in the Game of Thrones change the fate of the Game? Dark forces brew, and not all are White Walkers. But Thurin knows but one thing with certainty. 'Ours is The Fury.' Revised, rewritten, etc. Read and Review.
1. Chapter 1

**_Rewritten._**

**_Declaimer: Forgot to do this before, but I don't own GOT ASOIAF or LOTR and blaa blaaaa etc._**

The Dagor Dagoroth, the Last Battle of all time, the Day of Doom had begun.

Morgoth, having regained the splendour of his days as Melkor, thrust through the Door of Night beyond the Walls of the World, and into the Timeless Void.

Melkor came ere and destroyed the Sun and Moon, and thus was Arien and Tilion lost forever.

But great Eärendil came, descending upon Melkor as a white and searing flame and drive him from the airs.

In that day, Tulkas, Champion of Valinor came forward, and on his right hand lays Eönwë, and on his left hand was Turin Turambar, Dragon Helm atop his head, and Gurthang, the black sword that _Eöl_ wrought shalt be in his hands, and thus forever and ever shalt the Drakes of Melkor cursed the dread blade of Turin.

With the power of the Valar, and _Eru Ilúvatar_ flowing through his veins, Turin son of Hurin dealt unto Melkor, the first and foremost of the Valar's death.

And thus was the Children of Hurin, and all Men's lamentations avenged.

But the dread Iron of Death is a cursed, if ultimately powerful blade, and it stole the power of Melkor. Granting Turin power beyond all but _Eru Ilúvatar_.

Such power is not meant to flow within the veins of any human, or Valar.

And in recompense, Arda shook, and Turin disappeared from all but the eyes of Eru _Ilúvatar_.

Thus spaketh _Námo,_ Lord Mandos.

* * *

><p>Prince Thurin of House Baratheon was merely eight namedays old, he was different than his siblings, black of hair instead of gold, greyish icy blue eyes instead of their Lannister looks. He was what most refered to as a true Baratheon, but he was different at the same time. Fairly tall for his age, he stood at about five foot five and a half, broad shoulders proof of his harsh training regime and heritage.<p>

Thurin rarely spoke unless it was needed, though it had gotten better in his later years. But fire lay in his eyes too, the fire Turin once held, and he rarely forgave injustice.

_'__Ours is the Fury.'_

He was a fighter, a warrior, a reader, and a planner in secret.

And one of his many plans were almost ready to take place.

He was to meet with his father and the Small Council.

And then his master plan would begin.

* * *

><p><strong><em>Red Keep<em>**

Thurin entered softly and slowly, his eyes finding Rowan who stood patiently for him. "Are those the scrolls and diagrams needed?" he asked softly.

"Yes, these are all the ones we worked on together." Rowan answered, his black hair laced with grey moving in the wind.

"You're just in time, the King and the Small Council have gathered just now." Rowan said, he was a tall man with tanned skin and black hair, and strongly built even though he was approaching Fifty and Nine years of age.

"You haven't ever been in politics before have you Rowan? You're a soldier who has loyally fought in many wars, among them were my Father's Rebellion and The Greyjoy's Rebellion, you've been in the army your entire life. Are you absolutely sure?" Thurin asked carefully, watching the honest, yet strict man.

"I am my Prince." Rowan answered with a small smile on his aging face.

"Then shall we begin?" Thurin asked humorously, for it had already begun

Thurin stopped before walking into the chambers of the Small Council. "I'm afraid we might have to worry about Lord Baelish, if we do then we'll eliminate him."

Rowan stopped and gave a toothy smile as a response as they stepped into the chambers.

Robert Baratheon sat in his chair, seated around the table in the centre along with his advisors. The man smiled as his favourite son entered.

"There you are my boy, I was worried that I might've needed to send someone to fetch you for me. So tell me, why have you asked our presence? What's on your mind my son?" Robert asked, his ice blue eyes searching Thurin's face curiously.

"Father," He nodded to Robert, "Council Members," He nodded to the rest at the table, "Allow me to introduce Rowan," He stepped back slightly and inclined his head towards Rowan, "He is here to help me with my proposition."

"Your Grace," Rowan bowed respectfully as he spoke, "It's been some time since I last saw you, not since the Trident."

"Oh? You fought at the Trident?" Robert asked, his eyebrows lifting slightly.

"I did Your Grace, as well as the Greyjoy's Rebellion," Rowan answered respectfully, "I lead a charge against the Dornishmen. Do you perhaps remember me?"

"I might," Robert began, "Were you perhaps the one that drove back some of the Kingsguard at the Trident?" He asked slowly, staring at Rowan, before nodding.

"Indeed that was I, Your Grace. It was an honour beyond words to serve you in the act of bringing down Mad King Aerys." Rowan replied in turn.

"Aye that it was, but it was even better riding the world of that blasted fucking Rhaegar." Robert responded darkly, old memories sharpening his fury.

"Shall we begin the meeting? I'm interested to hear this proposal. Your Grace." Varys, the Master of Whispers spoke slyly.

"I too would like to hear this proposition." Stannis Baratheon, the Master of Ships said.

"I'd like to third that notion. I'm interested in what my nephew wants to say." Renly the Master of Laws said.

"Very well," Robert sighed, "Thurin my son, tell us your proposal."

"Father, during the feast just five day ago, you talked about how the armies of Westeros are all loyal only to their homelands and not the Crown. You said it was silly that the King has no real army of his own. Do you remember," Thurin asked, he didn't wait for a response before he began again, "You said it would be better if there was a Royal Army that serves the King, and not the various Kingdoms."

"Aye." Robert replied.

"Father, when I heard you say those words. A plan formed in my mind, I contacted my friend Rowan, and together, I designed a Royal Army for the Crown." Thurin remarked carefully, his eyes meeting Robert's.

"I was drunk when I said that son….." Replied Robert.

Thurin looked down at the scrolls, before looking up at his father, "I know that, but I believe that the Royal Army will benefit the Kingdom as a whole."

"Care to explain young one?" Asked Jon Arryn, the Hand of the King.

Thurin's eyes turned to stare at the aged hand in respect and admiration. "Yes, Grandfather," He paused, shocking himself, before smiling at the honourable Hand.

Jon Arryn merely smiled in response.

Thurin craned his head. "The Kingdoms are too divided. A strong ruler could keep them in check for a time, but the moment a weakness presents itself, the plotting and scheming begins," He paused, watching his father move in his chair uncomfortably in recognition, "One of the ultimate reasons this happens is because their Armies only serve their interests, while the King does without one, which shows weakness and lesser power in the Lords eyes."

Thurin's eyes watched Baelish carefully before he continued, "But a Royal Army for the King, would show strength and power, making the King appear to them as being stronger, and thus can keep them in check."

His eyes moved across their faces calculatingly, evaluating them like a Hawk does to their prey. "The Royal Army will be the strongest standing army in Westeros, it will draw from all the Kingdoms, and because of that unification can form among them also."

"Impressive." Varys noted ever slyly.

Thurin's gaze snapped to look at Varys in curiosity and suspicion. The man seemed to generally be working for the wellbeing of the Realm, but he was certain that there was something behind it, something behind the mask.

'I'll have to keep an eye on that man…' His eyes turned to calculate the others.

"Ambitious, I like it. Nephew I give my blessing." Renly spoke approvingly.

"The idea is sound, I think it will benefit and improve the loyalty of the Realm, it will definitely increase the Kings power," Stannis said, his eyes staring at Thurin, "But I'd like to know what exactly this army is."

"Very well," Thurin said as he turned and nodded to Rowan, who handed them their papers and scrolls. "This army will be formed by the faction that we named the Legions. The Legions will be ultimately led by the Marshal-Generals, but the Centurion, will be the Second in Command."

He let his words sink in, before he continued, "I will begin with the first of the many forces the Legions shall have. It is the infantry," He said, watching them carefully, "The Infantries, along with the entire legions armour shall be made from Mithril the metal that I discovered."

He waited a few second to catch his breath, before continuing, "This Mithril will be smithed into being like plate armour, but far stronger. It will be impervious to most arrows and weapons, even axes,"

He paused, his grey orbs glowing, "Only something of comparable metal working should be able to break the armour," He noted, his eyes turning to stare at his papers, "The main weapon used by the Infantry will be a Halberd made from Mithril, the Halberd is a weapon I and Rowan devised," He stopped, inclining his head towards Rowan, who merely nodded.

"The Halberd is made to be able to break Cavalry with its polearm, trip horses and people, bash armour, and cut through most armours, it's meant to be better than a pike," He said, eyes glinting, "The Infantry will also be equipped with a short sword, and javelins that can be launched, or used in between the gaps of the shield formation." He watched the stunned look on his father's face before nodding.

"The Cavalry, is made to be as fast as possible, their Halberds will be slightly shorter, and curved," He looked down at the scrolls, nodding before beginning again, "They will be encased in full Mithril plate armour. The Cavalry will be tasked with charging in and killing as many enemies as they can before retreating within the shield wall. They will also be tasked with getting rid of any return Cavalry and forcing them backwards." He barely contained his smirk as he stared at the stunned glances of everyone at the table.

He breathed quietly, "The Archers will wear Mithril armour, but mail instead of plate, to make them as light of a unit as possible. They will used Crossbows made, yet again from Mithril, and if one is already well versed in it, Longbows," He stopped inching closer to the table, "The Archers will be armed with short swords and a much shorter Halberd to be used if needed." He noticed the exchanging glances, and instantly he knew he had them with his grasp.

"The Scouts of the army will be a unit called the Shock Troops, sometimes referred to as Rangers, they will be tasked with watching the terrain ahead and enacting guerrilla tactics against the enemy, or enemies. One of their main functions will be to destroy the enemy's food supplies and get rid of their supply lines, along with their weapons, basically like raiders," He said, nodding before continuing, "Their Mithril armour will have hooded mail in place of helmets, and as with all of the groups, they will have black armour." He smiled as he saw the looks on their faces.

"Finally, and yet foremost, is the Engineers. They are the ones who build the supply lines, and take care of the Siege equipment, along with anything else required. The Catapults will also be made from Mithril, and so too will the Siege towers. Any Legion will be trained to be able to take on larger armies, defend a fortification, or take one." He nodded to Rowan, who smiled and finished in his place.

Rowan stepped forward and began. "Unlike the Levy troops employed like the Kingdoms, which vary from skilled Men at Arms to simple peasants that don't know how to fight properly, the Legions will be formed entirely by highly trained, disciplined, and professional soldiers. Most Legionaries will dedicate most of their lives to it. I hope this satisfiers you all." Rowan finished, turning and nodding at Thurin with a smile.

"Amazing! This army will be unlike anything Westeros or Essos has ever seen!" Exclaimed Renly.

"These diagrams show that the training these Legions will go through will clearly make them into professional soldiers. I would take well trained units over the best equipped any day, and these Legions will be both well trained and the best equipped solders in the Realm." Stannis said, turning to look at Rowan and Thurin. "How many men will be in a single Legion?"

"About 10,000 men in every Legion." Answered Rowan.

H-how can we b-be so s-sure that they won't d-desert?" Asked the Maester Pycelle.

"As I said before, the Legions will recruit from every kingdom, so as to make them diverse. Each distinct Legion, when going to where they will be stationed, will learn about the land which will be their new homes." Thurin answered, eyes evaluating the supposed 'frail man.'

"B-but…."

"Oh be quiet Grand Maester, I like this idea and agree with my son!" The King said, interrupting Pycelle. "When can we start building the Legions?"

"Unfortunately, Your Grace, it is unfeasible for us to fund these…Legions. Considering the Crowns debts." Remarked Petyr Baelish.

Thurin craned his head to stare at Baelish, he abhorred the man, but he bit back his annoyance. "I wasn't aware the Crown was in debt, Lord Baelish." He lied through his teeth calmly, eyes glinting.

"I'm afraid so. The Crown owes just a little over 5 million in debt to your grandfather, the Iron Bank, and other various groups."

Thurin stared at the man in pretend suspicion and shock. 'Be calm, if I must I will. You know the game….' He barely contained a smirk as he lifted his gaze to see what they were talking about.

"You've managed to get money for us before Baelish. Why can't you do the same now?" Robert asked.

"There is a huge difference between the costs of tourneys and feasts compared to the paying for an army. I'm afraid that it's not possible." Baelish replied.

_You are Turin Turambar, master of doom and by doom mastered. Bane of Glaurung, killer of Melkor. Murderer of your friends. Great General, and yet great killer. You are Mormegil!_

Thurin blinked, before shaking his head discreetly. "Father! I have a few ideas that might help, but I need some time to contemplate them. Could we perhaps finish this tomorrow?" He interrupted.

"Very well. Tomorrow it is then." Robert said.

"Thank you father." He nodded before leaving the room.

* * *

><p>"You said you wanted to see me son?" Asked Robert.<p>

"It has come to my attention that we have a traitor running around," He brought his hand up to calm his father, "I have proof, but I wish for you to allow me to handle it father. And give me full authority. Will you allow this father?" Thurin asked, calmly staring at Robert.

Robert seemed to contemplate him for a moment, before answering. "Very well, I give you full authority on this mission to do whatever you see fit. Don't fail me. My son."

"Thank you father." He said, walking out of the chamber, nodding to the four guardsmen who had been ordered to follow him.

* * *

><p>Petyr Baelish walked down the hall, ready to return to his main brothel to gather information.<p>

"Excuse me, my good Lord Baelish." He recognized that voice vaguely. He turned around, coming face to face with Thurin Baratheon.

"Greetings my Prince. Please accept my apologizes, I did not realize you would come by." Petyr Baelish greeted.

"Its fine Lord Baelish, in fact, I was looking for you." Thurin said.

"Is that so? I take it you wish to discuss that matter from earlier?" Baelish asked.

"Indeed Lord Baelish." Thurin replied.

"Please there's no need to be so formal, I'm just a simple lowly council member, call me Littlefinger, everyone else tends to do so." Baelish said.

"I wouldn't dream of it. It is polite to call someone by their title, especially someone like you, _who_ has _done_ **_so_** _much_ for the _Realm_." Thurin swiftly replied.

"You flatter me, Prince Thurin. I am just doing my duty." Baelish responded.

Baelish had to admit, at least to himself, he had been caught off guard when the Prince had sought him out. It was something he would have expected from Varys, but not from a boy who was only on his eighth nameday.

"You guessed correctly Lord Baelish. I would like to talk to you about the Legions. May we discuss it somewhere private?" Thurin continued.

"Of course. I find that private discussion are always the most enjoyable. We can talk in my study here in the castle. Please, follow me."

As Baelish led Thurin to his study, his mind began to plot. He knew that the prince had some sort of plan. He wasn't worried of course, the prince was only eight, how much of a threat could he be? Besides, it was possible that he could turn this meeting to his favour.

After reaching the study, Baelish and Thurin took their seats, and Baelish offered the prince a drink, but Thurin politely refused.

"I have to say that your plan is an interesting one. But, as you are aware, the Crown's treasury is not doing too well. We owe money primarily to Twin Lannister your grandfather, and the Iron Bank. While I could, perhaps borrow more in order to pay for the Legions. I would put the treasury in a far worse situation." Baelish began.

"Actually, it's the treasury I wish to speak about Lord Baelish." Thurin returned.

"Oh? And what exactly do you mean?" Baelish asked.

"After the meeting, I went and looked into the financial reports." Thurin said.

"That's surprising. I didn't think a boy like yourself would be interested in reading such…boring papers." Baelish replied.

"Oh didn't you hear? I love books, when I'm not training my heads most likely stuck in a book. And thus, in my reading of the reports, I found some very….interesting things." Thurin continued.

"And what exactly would that be my Prince?"

"Oh, just details of how much the kingdoms have been making for these years of summer. It seems that everyone but the Crown is making money. I may not be an expert, but I still find it quite odd." Thurin answered.

"Well, as you know, your father likes to host many tourneys and feasts. They have been slowly putting us into…."

"I'm well aware of my father's….hobbies _Lord Baelish_. But you see, I wondered to myself, how could tourneys and banquets put us into such debt? So I cross referenced the income reports. And not so _shockingly_, _they do_ not _add up_. And the royal census backs it up as well." Thurin replied.

"But my Prince, there hasn't been a royal census since….."

Since Aegon the Fifth, yes I know." Thurin interrupted. "But the last census does show how much the Crown and the kingdom as a whole makes during the summer. The kingdoms finances fit, but the Crowns does not. Certainly my father's '_hobbies'_ might stack up and cost a bit. But not nearly enough to put us into the amount of debt we are in." Thurin's icy, greyish blue eyes met Baelish's like thunder and flames. "So you can imagine that I am wondering where all the _money_ is _going_."

Baelish's eyes widened but mere heartbeats after Thurin's words. His face paled as he realized just where the prince was getting to with his words.

"You and I both know the answer to that. Especially since all that money has disappeared into your own _pockets_." Thurin's face went deathly cold, as cold as his icy eyes.

Baelish's mind worked overtime to desperately figure out a way out of this situation.

"My Prince this is quite a serious accusation. Surely….."

"That I don't believe you've been committing treason for years? Sorry, but yes_, I do_." Thurin answered.

"Maybe we could strike a deal?" Asked Baelish desperately.

"Oh sorry, did I forget to mention _what else I found?_" Thurin said, handing Baelish a few notes.

Baelish's blood ran cold as he stared at what was written on the notes.

"I have proof of every act of treason. Every act of buying everyone of in this city. I'm terribly sorry, but you've dug your own grave." Thurin said.

Baelish stared up at Thurin in shock. "H-how? You're just a boy!" Baelish shouted.

"That was your mistake, Lord Baelish, or should I call you Littlefinger? After all, the title you held is gone." Thurin smirked.

"But I was winning the game! How could I have…."

Thurin stood, grabbing Baelish and throwing him onto the floor. "Petyr Baelish, I Prince Thurin Baratheon, say your guilty of treason, and sentence you to death."

Baelsih desperately tried to move, but several hidden guards came from nowhere and held him down.

"_Ours is the fury._" Whispered Thurin, wrath on his face unlike any Baelish had ever seen.

Thurin turned to the fourth guard, and nodded to him. "Unsheathe your blade."

The guard understood, and nodded as unsheathed his blade, and brought it up in the air atop Baelish's head.

"_Ours is the fury_." The words thundered out from Thurin's mouth like water.

"_Listen_ er_e my words. The true winner Littlefinger, is thou who shalt stare into the future….._" Thurin whispered.

'_Ours is the Fury_.' He thought to himself, his eyes turned harsh, he nodded.

The Guard's blade came down.

And Petyr Baelsh was no more, his head rolling to the floor, and his own blood fountained out and soaked the carpets in _crimson_.

* * *

><p>Thurin turned, his blade moving with him as he addressed the guardsmen. "Go, tell my father of what has transpired, give him my proof, and tell him I shall get us a new Master of Coin."<p>

The guards nodded, bolting out of the office.

"Oh, and get someone to clean this floor!" He shouted to their running.

'_Ours is the fury._' He breathed, his breath quaking in the air.

* * *

><p>"I wish for you to be the new Master of Coin, use the finances I've given you to bring the treasury up to par." Thurin said, talking to a man in a tavern.<p>

"Very well." Said the man.

"Oh, and Tuor." Thurin said.

Tuor stopped, turning to stare at Thurin.

"Be discreet."

* * *

><p>"I have managed to find ways to bring the treasury back up to par, Your Grace." Said Tuor, the new Master of Coin.<p>

"Ha ha, excellent, it seems my son is crafty when it comes to finding useful people. I look forward to see these Legions in action. But we must decide where they will be created, and who is to lead them." Robert said.

"I and Rowan talked about it. He says he wishes to be the Second Marshal General, and the current leader of the Legions. He would be best for the job after all. And as for the headquarters, I think we should use the ancient city of _Skyfall_." Thurin replied.

"Aye, Rowan would be perfect for the job. But that old fortress? It's in ruins my son." Robert said.

"That may be true, but it is in a very good strategic positon. It is just north-west from the crossroads. As for it being ruins? I plan to rebuild the fortress with Mithril." Thurin replied.

Robert finally nodded, realizing his son was right. "Very well."

After the meeting finally came to an end, Robert asked to speak with Thurin.

"Thurin, I am proud of you." He said. "You managed to rid us of a treasonous snake, and you put a lot of effort into this plan, in which you have prevailed."

Thurin smiled, a rare smile, taking his father aback. "Father, may I make a request?"

"Of course, your deeds and devotion to the Realm deserves a reward." Robert answered.

"Would you name me Lord of _Skyfall_? Please?"

Robert stared at his son in bewilderment, he had not expected such a request. But before he could question, his son continued.

"Much is changing father, the Legions will change even more. Joffrey will be King, but I want to be remembered for something. And building the Royal Army and becoming Lord of _Skyfall_ fits the bill. Long have I felt a burning fire to wander father, I wish to see much of this land, and yet more." Thurin said.

"Are you sure? There's a chance you could become Lord of the Stormlands, Seven Hells even Casterly Rock." Robert asked.

Thurin nodded. "I can be Lord of the Stormlands as well, father."

"Your crazy!" Robert said, letting out a loud, booming laugh. "I like that boy. You are not of age yet, so some would think you should not be a Lord. But they will have to accept it, because I bloody well say so! I name you Lord of _Skyfall_ and I shall allow you to be Renly's heir, use the titles well, my son."

"Well, it supposedly has a nice view of dirt father." Thurin said, causing the both of them to start laughing. "I must take my leave Father. Oh and…..you have got quite a tough task ahead of you."

"Tough? What's so tough about this? I'm the King after all." Robert asked.

"I'm not referring to that, I'm talking about how you will manage to deal with _Mother_." Thurin grinned as he left the room.

Robert found his mouth fall agape at the thought.

"Fuck….that little shit!"

* * *

><p>"<em>Times are changing.<em>" Rasped a man, spiral, golden eyes glimmering in the dark.

"It's nigh time for us to begin." Said another.

"When will I be able to unleash my blade upon my foes?" Asked another with fanged teeth.

"_The Storm is nigh._" Rasped the first man.

And the world shook.

**_Authors Note._**

**_It's an extra few hundred words longer lol. _**

**_I've changed much, it was not Thurin who beheaded Baelish but one of the guards, I realized that a mere boy killing someone without remorse would be suspicious to some, so yeah._**

**_I've Made Thurin Lord of Skyfall and Heir of the Stormlands, nice right? _**

**_I changed it so Thurin knew about Baelish all along, he just didn't know if he needed to get rid of him. The Beginning part has been changed also. _**

**_I will put it in later, but I'll tell you my readers what Skyfall is, it's an ancient fortress that goes way back to the old days of the First Men, it was revered as a great fortress, and much is hidden within it. Cool right?_**

**_Fans of Meteor and Naruto-Obito, I am still writing them, and am getting ever closer to finalising the plot and rewrites. As I said before I've promised not to simply stop writing them, so be patient._**

**_If any wish to be a beta for my story than simply PM me._**

**_Please review!_**


	2. War Is On The Horizon

**_This is the rewrite folks. _**

**Here's my second chapter. This one in particular is set in the future about five years later.**

* * *

><p><em>Flashback<em>.

King Robert Baratheon scowled as he stared at the message Ser Kevan Lannister had given him. "Why does Tywin Lannister of Casterly Rock wish to foster my son Thurin?" Robert demanded, his voice like iron as it boomed.

"My brother sees potential in the boy. He wishes to have Thurin stay and learn from him so he can be groomed into the heir of Casterly Rock." Kevan answered, honesty in his eyes and voice.

"This would be a benefit to the royal family and the kingdom as a whole." Cersei said in her sweet voice.

"What about that blasted dwarf? Is he not the heir?" Robert said suspiciously.

"Lord Tywin does not recognize Tyrion as his heir. There's nothing to prevent him from naming Prince Thurin as the heir instead. _If_ he proves himself." Kevan replied swiftly.

"My son is already a Lord. He's Lord of the once great fortress of _Skyfall_, and, as Renly agreed, heir of the Stormlands." Robert said ice blue eyes staring at the two Lannister's.

"Thurin can be Lord of all three, there's nothing stopping it," Cersei said, her voice like silk, "My father served well as Hand of the King for many years," She smiled the Lannister smile, "He could educate our son to become the new Hand one day." Cersei said, tone ever sweet and as pleasant as she could muster.

"You protested my wish of fostering Joffrey under Ned Stark. What's made you so eager to let our second son be sent away? And what of Tommen?" Robert accused.

"Joffrey can learn about being a King better here in King's Landing." Cersei assured. "But there's no one who can teach Thurin to be a better Hand then my father," She paused, "As for Tommen, he's not of age yet, so until he comes of age he isn't heir to anything."

Robert huffed and pouted, he may have not been the best of Kings, but he knew that Tywin could change his favourite son into something that he didn't wish for his son. Suddenly, Robert let of a small smile as he spoke. "Kingslayer! Go and fetch Thurin! Bring him here now." He said, before turning to his wife and Ser Kevan. "I wish to talk to Thurin about this matter alone."

Cersei was about to say something but he interrupted the dammed woman. "Now."

The two Lannister's left the hall, leaving Robert in his thoughts. "You sent for me father?" asked Thurin, having walked in just nigh moments ago.

"I was speaking with your mother and uncle, Kevan, and it appears Tywin Lannister wishes to foster you, so that he may groom you into his heir. I am left undecided, and have decided to allow you a choice in the matter." Robert answered.

"I didn't think the only meeting I've had with Tywin went very well, nor did I think I left much of an impression." Thurin replied.

"Thurin, I'll give you a choice, you can foster with Tywin, or go to the North to my good friend Eddard Stark." Robert said.

Thurin stared at his father for many moments, before he made a decision. "House Lannister is untrustworthy, is it not?"

Robert nodded in confusion.

"It's also the richest house in the entirety of the kingdoms. Correct?" He asked.

Robert nodded once more.

"House Lannister only works for their best interests, and could betray you at any moment. Am I right Father?" Thurin asked carefully.

"Where are you going with this my son?" Robert asked as he nodded.

"I will foster under Tywin, and become the heir." Thurin finally said.

"Are you mad boy?" Robert boomed.

"House Lannister is too powerful, if left unchecked they might even dare to take over the land. The house is also not loyal to you. But if I become Lord of Casterly Rock, you will have someone loyal to you father. That's why I will go. Everything I do is for the kingdom after all." Thurin said, a wide, contemplative smirk on his face. "Who better to trick the Lion's then a Stag hiding within one?"

"Son, you are simply the cheekiest, smartest boy I've ever met." Robert laughed, realising the meaning behind what his son was getting at.

"I always thought the Lion's needed to be humbled, now I guess is my chance." Thurin said with a loud laugh. "I will foster under Tywin for five years, then I wish to go to the North and foster under Lord Eddard, father. Tell Tywin if he doesn't accept my demands then I'm not going to the West."

Robert smiled. "I will make sure of it. Son, cheers to yet another plan enacted," He paused, "Maybe I should force Cersei to allow Joffrey to foster under Ned as a compromise?"

_End of Flashback._

* * *

><p>Five years had passed, and he'd managed to become Tywin's heir, and managed to gain Tywin's trust. The now 13 year old boy was traveling to the North. He had missed Myrcelle and Tommen, but not Joffrey, never would he ever miss that blasted Jofrrey.<p>

He had also missed his father, but much had changed since he had gone. His eyes glanced at the regained Gurthang and the Helm of Hador on his head. His memory had returned almost completely to him, with only what happened after striking down Melkor lost to his mind.

With guards tailing behind him Thurin finally reached the North. He decided to stop at an inn to rest and eat. Sitting at a table near the far end he began to listen to hear if anyone knew any rumours.

"You just have to face it, there are no lords who are simply going to give us the materials, and funding's to repair the fort."

Thurin glanced to the people who he had heard, seeing a woman and four men. The woman had black hair, and a bow strapped to her back. The first of the men had reddish hair and a beard with a sword on his hip. And the second had grey hair and a great sword on his back. The third had brown hair and a spear besides him. The fourth had dark skin and dark hair, along with a long beard, with a war hammer on his back.

"She's right, we will just have to gather the funds ourselves." The red haired man said.

The dark skinned one, glared at the other two. "And might I ask how we are supposed to do that? Our best bet is to find a Lord to be the benefactor."

"A Lord would only aid us if the rebuilt Roarguard swore fealty."

"What's wrong with swearing fealty?" Asked the brown haired man.

"The Roarguard was a faction enacted to fight the White Walkers during the days when the Night's Watch had only been just made. But that's only half of the truth. In truth the Roarguard has only two purposes, protect the history of the First Men of old, and protect the North. They swear fealty to none but the First Men, and they are only honour bound to the North." Answered the dark skinned man.

"Until Mad King Aerys destroyed the order you mean," Bit out the brown haired man, "We can't cling too much to the old ways, we must alter our goals."

They seemed angered but the brown haired man continued on. "It was because of the old ways that the Roarguard weren't taken seriously, and thus why many thought it unnecessary to spend needless money on the group."

Thurin stood and walked towards them, easily noticing the brown haired man's stare. "Did I hear you correctly? You wish to take on the task of rebuilding the Roarguard?" He asked the group.

They glanced at him from their chairs. And he realised for a mere boy he must've been quite an interesting sight. Standing at 6 foot 3 at merely ten and three namedays, wearing black armour, Gurthang at his hip, and the Helm of Hador on his head, the only thing that made his age obvious was his young face.

"That's right, why do you ask?" Asked the red haired man.

"Just curious, after all the Mad King disbanded it a fair amount of years before the Rebellion." Thurin answered.

The bald man answered. "Years ago, I was part of the order, but never believed in the need to do what I was trained for. Until one day, it was night, and I was near the Wall. And I found bodies, so many, littering the ground, holes in their chests and all. But then one of them rose, eyes like ice and the air was freezing….."

"Continue." Thurin said.

"No matter what I did, it wouldn't die! I even decapitated it, but that didn't stop it, and in my fear I ran like a child. It was that day that I understood why the Night's Watch and Roarguard were needed. I finally upheld my duties and Oaths, but then the Roarguard was disbanded, and the only ones who believed me when I told them what I saw, were murdered." The dark man said, eyes flashing with anger at the memory.

"Do you think it was a White Walker?" Thurin finally asked softly.

The man didn't answer for nigh minutes. "I don't know, but whatever it was I know this. The Night's Watch, blast the entire kingdom won't be ready for an onslaught like that! The Realm needs the Watch and the Roarguard more than ever, but it needs more than even that. The Realm need as much protection as we commoners can give it."

"I don't really care if White Walkers or some other sort of creature exists, or I care about is the protection of the Realm. I'd be a fool to ignore something like this." Thurin said, moving closer to the three. "I shall help you, I will be the benefactor of the Roarguard. You have my word."

The dark man stared, because he saw the truth in the boy's eyes.

"And how, might I add, will you do this?" He asked.

"I am Thurin Baratheon, Lord of _Skyfall_ and heir of the Stormlands and of Casterly Rock." Thurin answered, voice booming.

And shockingly, merely hearing of him being Lord of _Skyfall_ made them swear fealty.

* * *

><p>Tuor read the treasury records carefully, beginning damage control.<p>

"I have heard no whispers of you new Master of Coin." Said the sly voice of Varys.

Tuor closed his book and stood, his ginormous form towering above Varys. "I am not very surprised, I don't hail from anywhere special, and my background is nothing to be talked about." He lied through his teeth.

Varys merely stared before leaving.

Tuor sighed, knowing that this was not the end of it.

But then he smiled, he had a 'frail old' man to get rid of.

* * *

><p>Assollo, great Khal of the Dothraki stopped in front of a tall man, nay a huge man who stood at 7 foot 4. The man had black hair and grey eyes, and an entire armada of boats were behind him.<p>

"You must be Khal Assollo of the Dothraki. I bring greetings from Ar-Pharazôn the Golden, the Lord above all Kings who is Lord of Numenor and Umbar. Our great King who was anointed by Melkor, the Lord of all the corners of the world." A man said, his dark voice booming across the area.

"The Great King has heard tales of you. You are one of the greats among your people, but you have no allies, and any leader or warrior need allies, or better still friends. And Ar-Pharazôn wishes to be a good friend, he has much gold and many soldiers." The man smiled, his voice sweet, and admiration was on his face.

"Numenor is the greatest Kingdom that has ever been, armies greater than any other lays within our borders. The great Melkor has gifted us his domain, for we are the chosen people, and we shall have dominion over all. For we are the greatest of all men ever conceived. Ar-Pharazôn promises kindness and goodness to those who are his friends. But cruelty and terror to those who are his enemies." The man's voice was sweet with promises of gifts, kindness, and mercy.

"We've heard of your people, the Dothraki. Whose armies are strong but are primitive. Ar-Pharazôn wishes to be your allies, we can help you take command over every Khal, we will help you become the Lord of all Khals. Hundreds of thousands of soldiers will be put under your command, if you simply swear fealty to the Great King of Numenor." The man finished, turning to stare at Assollo.

"What say you?"

Assolo barked. And in his language said. "_I need no man who doesn't ride, nor do I swear fealty to anyone!_"

The man stared at the Dothraki man, contemplation on his face. "Does that mean Ar-Pharazôn the Great and all of Numenor is your enemy?" He asked.

Assollo simply laughed.

"Make way for Gorthaur the Great! The Kings Advisor!" Shouted one of the people from the boats. The one called Gorthaur stood at an unbelievable height of 9 foot 2, clad in black armour he walked towards Assollo.

"Is it true you wish to be an enemy of Numenor?" Asked Gorthaur.

Assollo simply grabbed his weapon.

Gorthaur laughed, his hand moving faster than any human should be able, slamming the Khal's head right off his body and sending it sailing away, it crumbled as it flew in the air. The body of the once great Khal slowly crumbled from the force of Gorthaur's hit, innards spewed out, and blood soaked into the ground.

"Ar-Pharazôn sends his regards." Gorthaur sighed, grabbing a cloth and slowly wiping his hand. "Were you about to say something?" He asked in the distance, a small smile was on his face. "Oh wait, you're dead. Sorry." He laughed, hand grabbing the gargantuan mace on his back.

Before setting his gaze on the Dothraki army of Khal Assollo. And he smiled a smile of elation. **_War was on the horizon._**

* * *

><p><strong><em>How was that my good readers? Thurin continues to strengthen the Kingdom, and<em>****_the loyalty it has towards himself and his father. Sauron (Or Gorthaur,) is brewing something._**

**_The White Walkers are already creeping around._**

**_Numenor still exists, and the entirety of its great armies still stand. How will the world of GOT fair? _**

**_I changed little, but enough to be noticed, the Roarguad's purpose is to guard the hidden history of the First Men and protect the North, I wonder why? Muhhahahahha! _**

**_There's much that is unknown to you folks about Skyfall, don't worry, you will soon find out._**

**_Please review!_**


	3. A Besieging Storm

**Chapter Three. A Besieging Storm**

**Author's Note.**

**This one hasn't been rewritten like the previous ones, its mostly just better writing with maybe a few extra battle parts in the scenes.**

**Gorthaur (Sauron,) is still as cunning as ever, but in this he's more open. He hasn't lost his first age powers, but he doesn't have the ring (He might just get it though, Muhahahah!) More reviews please! Bring on the reviews my amazing readers!**

* * *

><p>Tar-Míriel's gaze stared out into the sea, as she sat calmly on her throne within her ship. Aimlessly gazing outward, her grey eyes turned wrathful as she remembered her cousin Pharazôn.<p>

She remembered how he struck down the gates of her royal citadel, and how he raped her in front of her heirs, before wedding her forcefully. After some time, she and her heirs managed to escape, she still remembered how it felt stabbing Pharazôn's shoulder.

She wished she had aimed it at his _chest_.

Anyone who was still loyal to her as rightful Queen of Numenor, left with her, creating the third Numenorian faction.

"Tar-Míriel your excellence, our scouts bring news of Pharazôn leaving the land called Essos, he is now sailing for Westeros, with Gorthaur getting ready to sail alongside him. And Elendil is moving to Westeros also." An advisor said, his silky voice moving across the room.

"Then it is time for the three factions to do battle with one another once more." Tar-Míriel said, nodding to her General before carefully standing, and grabbing a long, sleek _crimson_ blade.

"And whoever wins this battle shall be ruler of Numenor." Tar-Míriel's voice was elegant as she gracefully cut a steel statue in half with a single swing of her blade.

* * *

><p><strong><em>Ar-Pharazôn's court at sea<em>**_._

"It has been long since I've seen Numenor." Said a sly voice.

"It has been long, hasn't it my King." Replied another.

Ar-Pharazôn's eyes stared at every figure within his court, evaluating them. Always watching for some sort of deceit, some sort of mistake to get rid of those he abhorred. "When will Gorthaur return to our main navy? He should be coming back so we can attack Elendil."

'Last I heard of him he had utterly eradicated a group of those savages. He should join up with us soon. My liege." Said one of his lesser advisors.

Ar-Pharazôn sighed, "Very well, we will wait. _For now_."

Ar-Pharazôn's eyes turned to stare at the sea. 'My dear Ar-Zimraphel. I can't believe that you were stupid enough to believe that you escaped me.' He laughed, before turning to stare at his assembled court. "I think we have a Queen to humble and humiliate. Just as **_we_** planned." He laughed again, sly voice reaching every corner within the hall, grey eyes staring down at his subjects.

_It's time_.

* * *

><p><strong><em>Essos.<em>**

Gorthaur's eyes contemplated the corpses around him, before grinning madly. "I call upon one of the Nazgul."

He had an army of wraiths to build after all.

One of the Nazgul appeared before him, shadowy form moving in the wind. "You called for me, Master?"

Gorthaur's gaze found the Nazgul in interest. "Build me an army from these corpses."

The Nazgul merely stared at the corpses before _nodding? _"I will begin then."

Gorthaur's gaze showed confusion. "Which one are you." He asked, but no reply came.

"These lands are similar to what my own once were." The Nazgul said, its voice reaching Gorthaur's in the wind.

Gorthaur stared. Not many of the Nazgul spoke like this one. _My own lands_, he considered it carefully, thinking of any country that reminded him of Essos. "Is….that you _Khamûl_?"

No reply came. "Am I mistaken?" He asked.

"No." The Nazgul finally said, having walked closer to Gorthaur.

Gorthaur merely contemplated _Khamûl, out of all the Nazgul, Khamûl was the most unpredictable. '_Besides _Er-Murazor_,' he finally decided.

"Get started then." He said.

_Khamûl nodded _before moving away once more_._

Gorthaur sighed, before turning around. His eyes moved towards the large Amanda gifted to him by the idiotic Ar-Pharazôn. "It's time we leave this horrid land and meet up with the King! People of Numenor!" He shouted, before retreating within the main ship, turning his eyes towards Westeros.

This horrid place without order would _fall_. If he had anything to say about it.

* * *

><p><strong><em>Elsewhere.<em>**

Rowan stared into the eyes of the Third Marshal-General. The man's name was Durnak, Durnak had been born and raised within the icy cold North. So the Northman was perfect for the job of being stationed within the same land.

"How fares the Second Legion?" Rowan found himself asking, staring into the aging, luminescent blue orbs of Durnak.

"It is faring well, my men are after all the second best within all the Kingdoms." The man returned with a small smile.

Rowan's eyes met Durnak's in an instant, both men contemplating each other. "It's been a long time since we last saw one another." He said, left hand coming up to shake Durnak's own.

"Far too long my old friend." Durnak answered, his callused hand gripping Rowan's own.

"You were always the best out of all the men I've ever trained." He replied, his voice was thick with splendour.

"Hey, no need to boost my ego." Laughed out Durnak, as they began to walk through the garrison.

"I'm not trying to boost anyone's ego, you know me far too well to believe that." He said softly, eyes turning to stare at the woman who had walked up to them.

"Ah, Rowan, meet my Second in Command, Eyla Snow." Durnak said, nodding to them both.

Rowan's eyes met hers, blue and yet, they were also black. "It's nice to meet you." He finally said, outstretching his hand.

"Greeting to you also, I've heard many tales of Second Marshal-General Rowan." Eyla said, a smile in her eyes as she took his hand and shook it, hard.

That's a strong grip you have there." Rowan found himself saying.

She laughed bemused and yet beaming at him. "Tis not the first time I've heard someone say that."

Rowan simply nodded as he turned to see Durnak smiling at him, as if some sort of joke was happening. "Can we have refreshments?" He asked.

Eyla simply nodded. "I'd already arranged that…" Her triumphant smile turned into a frown. "Where is he? I could have sworn he was right behind me…." She trailed of, craning her head to stare behind herself. "Colten! Where are you?"

A lanky young man stumbled up the stairs, eyes bloodshot and his black hair still tousled from sleep. The boy's eyes were nigh closed, such that only a sliver of his bloodshot eyes showed. The boy was swaying violently, such so that Rowan thought he'd fall over.

Eyla shook her head in exasperation, and yet fondly. "Colten, come on, wake up. The Second Marshal-General will die of old age simply waiting for you to hand him some refreshments."

Colten's eyes shot open as his head snapped upwards quickly, his startled eyes closing in on Rowan. "Second Marshal-General." He saluted, carrying his satchel. "I-I…d-didn't realize….."

Rowan laughed, "Don't worry," He winked at Colten, "Not all of us are natural early rises."

Colten smiled gratefully, ducking his head in utter embarrassment. Mentally kicking himself, he stood as straight as he could, hoping he hadn't made too much of a fool out of himself. Of course that only served to make his face turn red even more.

Durnak let out a roar of laughter. "You're just like I am in the mornings."

Colten's eyes turned to see Durnak, and his face grew redder still. "Sorry Ser! I didn't see you there." He saluted, before handing the satchel over.

Eyla laughed. "You should have seen your face!"

Colten pouted in embarrassment, before huffing.

'Yes,' Rowan decided, he liked the Second Legion, very much so.

* * *

><p><strong><em>The North<em>**.

Thurin rode on his horse carefully, eyes turning to stare at his Legionnaire guards. As Lord of _Skyfall_, and the technical First Marshal-General, he had full leeway to do what he wished with the Legion, as long as Rowan agreed.

Such as allowing woman into the Legion.

'Ten guards," He thought to himself, staring at the five men and woman. Winterfell finally came into his sight, and it reminded him of many things back during his time as 'Turin Turambar.' Yes, many things indeed.

Winterfell smelt like the earth, old and yet fresh, it reminded him of Doriath, the place that had been his home when he was sent away for safety.

The smell of wood in the air, he alongside his guards entered, their horse's hooves banging across the ground loudly.

He had reached the main courtyard.

He gracefully dismounted, pivoting on his heel, he saw a group of people gathered. Who he guessed were a family, the man who was most likely the father, was most likely Eddard Stark, he finally decided.

"Hey! Those men and woman are from the Legions! I hear that they are some of the most disciplined and skilled warriors in the Kingdoms!" He heard one of the girls, the youngest was his guess, say from afar.

He was quiet, contemplative as he nodded to his guards, before beginning a slow trot towards the Lord of Winterfell.

"Shut up Arya!" Shouted the other girl, and Thurin found himself not bemused in the slightest by their bickering. His eyes snapped towards the man who he guessed was Eddard, wince slightly, most likely hoping he hadn't heard what had transpired.

_How…__**amusing**_.

He watched as they all bowed as he finally stopped in front of them.

"Why do you bow Lord Stark?" He asked calmly, seeing the slight twitch from the man, Thurin decided that he guessed rightly. "There is no need, I am not my father, nor am I one for such pleasantries. Please, stand."

His evaluating gaze watched as Eddard stood and extended his hand. "Welcome to Winterfell Prince Thurin. We are all honoured by your presence." Eddard said.

He sighed to himself internally. "Please, the honour is mine. I've finally gotten to meet you. My father has spoken much of you, so too has Lord Arryn." He answered as he slanted his head to look down at Eddard, clasping the hand of the Warden of the North. "It is my pleasure, and an honour to be here. I must thank you for your welcome and for allowing me to stay here, I simply had to look at this place once and I already like it."

Eddard smiled before stepping back. "I give you my thanks, my Prince. Please, allow me to introduce my family."

Thurin's gaze whipped to the side, slanting even further down to stare at the family. "I'll be happy to meet them."

After having met the Starks, he realized that he felt a tinge of envy at how joyous they were. Remembering his own family, left a lot to be desired. But then he remembered Lalaith, and found himself smiling at the memory.

He liked all the Starks, even Sansa, he envied that she was able to be naive, yet he was also angered by it. 'Truth be told all of Eddard's children seem a little naïve, some more than others.' He thought to himself.

He breathed in the air, wondering what the years might bring.

* * *

><p>Colten sighed, his slitted eyes finally opening fully, only to snap them shut again from the sheer brightness of the sun. He yawned, turning his head to stare up at Eyla Snow.<p>

Eyla was the Centurion of the Second Legion, the Second in Command of Durnak himself. His commanding officer.

He sighed, standing and whirled around, before walking over to his friend, Karrem. "How goes everything my friend?

Karrem turned to stare at him, his brown eyes showing tiredness. "Tiresome, not a single bloody damn thing to be worried about in sight!"

Colten symphonized with his friend, who had been training to be a Ranger for a fair amount of time, but had yet to be drafted into the Seconds Ranger unit. "I hear from the higher ups that they are planning on getting everyone training to be a Ranger field tested."

Karrem's eyes flickered to his with hope. "I hope it's true. Sitting here and doing nothing is boring. I want to wander, to scout, to see the land. I can feel the wanderlust in my bones Colten."

Colten nodded, eyes turning to stare at land.

He nodded to himself as he walked away. "Rest easy, my friend."

He stopped. "Because it might be the last rest we will ever have." He whispered, eyes turning and staring at everyone in the Legion, young and old. His eyes opened fully, and grey eyes stared at the Northern lands.

_When you're in the Legion, any minute might be your last._

* * *

><p>Arya sighed, having just gotten out of a fight with Sansa. She grimaced as she remembered Septa Mordane's 'lessons.'<p>

How she hated the knitting lessons! It was just _boring_! She wanted to be a warrior! She wanted to learn how to fight with swords and bows. She wanted to be in the Legion! Why couldn't anyone understand her? She found herself wondering, her eyes widened as she loosed her arrow.

It hit the target, but it didn't reach the centre.

She smiled finally, not believing her luck, but thankful for it. If her mother found out then she'd have a fit, she finally decided, it was why she was sneaking around.

Someone clapped behind her. "You almost got the centre. Careful there, you need to rein in those emotions of yours"

Her mind all but forgot that she wasn't supposed to be out here using a bow. "Whoever you are, leave me alone! I'm busy." She gritted her teeth.

"Busy doing what? Doing something that you might not be allowed to do?" Said that patronising voice from behind her.

Arya whipped around, only to stop as she stared at the laughing Prince Thurin, who was standing with his guards. She flushed. "I'm sorry, I-I didn't realize." Her face grew redder in embarrassment.

Thurin's gazing eyes turned to stare at the target. "Just because I'm a Prince doesn't mean I should be treated any differently, so no. I don't accept your apology, it's unneeded, and after all, what is there to apologize for?" His voice was tinged with laughter as he nodded to his guards. "Should you not be having lessons with the Septa?"

Her flushed face turned to the side.

"Ah, bravo. You ran away.' Thurin said, clapping his hands once more as he grinned.

Her eyes shot to the side. "No! I didn't….I-I…" Her face grew redder. "I did slip away." She muttered out, embarrassment on her face. "But it was just so boring! I hate knitting!" She added.

Thurin merely laughed. "Knitting must be pretty bad then."

Arya turned, her face turning even redder. "It is, at least for me…..I overheard the Septa telling my mother I have a blacksmith's hands."

Thurin scowled. "That's not nice, now isn't it? Just because you're not good at something doesn't mean she has the right to say that." He turned to his guards then, seemingly asking their opinions. They all nodded in agreement.

Arya smiled, her embarrassment receding.

"Here."

Arya stared as Thurin handed her a steel bow, her eyes looked up in shock. "What's this for?"

Thurin's mouth quirked into a smile. "Your bow is almost ready to snap." His head glanced to the bow in her hands.

Her eyes turned to gaze at the bow in her hand. "Oh, I see."

"Please, accept my gift." Thurin said.

She reached for the bow, taking it from his hands as she stared at it, before smiling up at him. "Thank you."

He merely nodded as he turned to one of his guards. "Amyra, please teach Miss Arya Stark the bow and sword."

Arya's eyes whipped to the side as she saw one of Thurin's guards step forward, and she felt hope. "Really?" She found herself daring to ask.

"Yes." Thurin simply said, as he stepped back.

"Could I join the Legion?" Arya asked, hope in her eyes.

"It depends, but you could, if allowed." Thurin finally said, his eyes turning to stare at Amyra. "I think she'd make a good addition." He said, watching as Amyra nodded.

Arya smiled in hope, even if a little downcast at his words. "I'm a little surprised your willing to allow me to become a member of the Legion."

Thurin merely shrugged. "I don't really see the problem with such things." His eyes turned to stare at the target. "Your different from most noble girls. You remind me of…." He trailed of, eyes gazing out in thin air.

Arya stared at him in confusion. Before smiling. "Thank you."

Thurin's eyes turned to hers. "No problem." He nodded to Amyra as he began to walk away. "What a strange day." He muttered, his stare turning to frost as he stared at Winterfell.

* * *

><p><strong><em>A Year later.<em>**

Thurin readied his arrow, and let it go. It swished in the air and hit the target in the dead centre.

"Nice shot." Robb said, turning to see his own arrow.

"Thank you. I do try." Thurin replied with a grin.

"I'm sure you do." Jon said dryly.

"I bet I am a better shot." Theon said boastingly.

"Really? Then why are all of your arrows at the edge of the target?" Asked Thurin as he glanced at Theon's target.

"I bet I'm better at ships!" Theon said with a grin.

"Sure, I'll let you have that one. But losing a spar to someone who is much, much younger must be embarrassing, so I understand your denial.' Thurin replied, smirking as his eyes twinkled.

"Just keep talking." Theon replied with a grin.

"We should go back soon." Robb said.

Thurin nodded, as did the others, before turning to Theon. "You should join the First Legion, Marshal-General Rowan would be a great leader to work under. Or you could even join the Navy."

Theon nodded. "I've been having thoughts about joining the Legion, but I doubt my father would allow it, I'm the heir of the Iron islands after all."

"How sad, I think you'd do well in the Legions, friend." Thurin said, before nodding in understanding. "What about you Jon?"

Jon stared back at him in shook, before replying. "I never thought of it…..I've always wanted to take the Black." He sighed, staring back at Winterfell.

"You'd be welcome among the Legion Jon. There are many like you there who have gained high ranks. I know of a Centurion here in the North, her names Eyla Snow, she's well respected and is considered one of the best soldiers and Commanders in the Royal Army." Thurin replied, his eyes glancing at his friend.

"….I don't now…." Jon trailed of, eyes meeting Thurin's in an instant.

"No one in the Legion is treated differently for their birth, Jon." Thurin said, slanting his head to the side.

"I guess joining the Legion would be good for me…." Jon said, trailing of yet again.

"It's up to you to decide Jon, but you won't have to give anything up if you join the Legion." Thurin said.

Jon nodded with a smile. "I'd like that."

Thurin merely smiled.

"It's too bad father's not here." Robb said.

"Lord Stark has gone to meet Rowan and talk about commissioning a Navy for the North." Thurin replied. "After all, _Winter is Coming_ and a fleet would be handy, because boats can carry supplies and be used for trading."

"Why is it that your ideas are always the best and most logical?" Asked Robb.

Thurin laughed. "I'm far from the being the best planner out there."

Once they had gone back to the main complex of Winterfell, they walked to the hall for a feast. Only to be interrupted as Maester Luwin came rushing in. "Lady Stark! Urgent news!" Luwin shouted as he heaved.

"What's wrong?" Catelyn asked.

"There are three armies on our doorstep, they are getting closer and closer to here every minute!" Luwin replied.

"How many?" Thurin asked.

"We don't know the exact numbers, but one of the armies has one hundred and seventy thousand not counting the rest of the troops still landing from their ships." Luwin answered.

"_One Hundred and Seventy Thousand? _How far from here are they?" Thurin asked, his mind working overdrive to figure out the best cause of action.

"They are split up at opposing ends. From what I've heard, the armies will probably meet about Southeast of here, most likely near the Castle Cerwyn. Not only that, but there are reports of another army. As for how far they are, we don't now, because this message came late, but it says barely a day." Luwin finished.

"We must call the banners even without Lord Stark present. We must stop these armies before they reach Winterfell." Ser Rodrik stated.

"There is no time." Thurin interrupted calmly. "The North's army is strong, but the land is far, far too large, there is no time to gather them all." He turned to them, looking at all of them, before continuing. "I will call upon Marshal-General Rowan, who will call upon the Second and Third legions that are stationed here, he will also bring the First Legion. That gives us Thirty Thousand men."

"There is no hope for us then." Ser Rodrik said.

"Call on your banners still, just in case." Thurin said calmly. "I must ride out and meet up with Rowan." Thurin walked out of the hall, and began to get his horse ready.

"I will come with you." Said Robb, his hand clasping Thurin's shoulder. "I'll bring as many bannerman as I can. Just as our father's stood together, we shall as well."

Thurin turned and contemplated Robb, before smiling. "It will be an honour to fight side by side as friends."

"I will come as well, my friend." Jon spoke, walking towards them.

"I'm coming as well." Grinned Theon.

Thurin sighed, before letting out a laugh. "It seems we are all going." He craned his head at Luwin. "Luwin, send a raven to any Lords near Castle Cerwyn and ask them to bring their men. As for the rest of the bannerman? Bring them to here, in Winterfell."

The three mounted their horses. "Are we really ready for this?" Robb asked.

"Is anyone ever ready?" Thurin answered.

"I don't know." Robb replied.

"Shall we ride?" Thurin finally asked.

"Let's." Said Jon, his face grim.

"Very well then, my friends." Thurin turned, slamming his helm down on his head. "For the Seven Kingdoms!"

And the world _quaked_.

* * *

><p>Colten stared, fear gripping him as he heard the news.<p>

_War had come to the North._

"People of the Legions! The North is besieged by several unknown armies. We must protect this land at all costs!" Rowan shouted out.

_When you're in the Legion, any minute may be your last._ Came back to him in an instant, he felt his heart beat faster.

He shuddered.

"I will tell you all this, this may be the last day you will ever have. But we must fight till our deaths for the North!" Rowan lifted his hammer as a symbol, before bringing it down.

The North would never be the same.

* * *

><p>"Battle is nigh." Said Thurin, nodding to Rowan and Durnak.<p>

"We are situated just a few leagues away from Castle Cerwyn, why?" Asked Durnak.

"We can't lock ourselves up, just in case they aren't coming here." Answered Thurin.

"Why do we allow a greenhorn who has never seen battle before lead us?" Muttered Greatjon.

Thurin simply stared at him before turning to look back down at the map table. "_It might be good to not underestimate me. Lord Umbar._" His voice rang through the tent, cold and harsh. Then he raised his eyes and stared at Greatjon.

Greatjon let out a roar as he grinned crookedly. "Seems the Stag has some steel on him."

Thurin ignored him as he turned. "Has the Ranger's General reported back?"

"Yes. They report that all four armies will arrive here or somewhere close by in three hours." Rowan said grimly.

"How is our preparing going?" Thurin asked finally.

"We have the higher ground, and we've made camp in a good position. We've set up our shield walls, and any trenches we could. Our Catapults are set and ready." Durnak answered, eyes growing darker every moment.

"I have a plan." Thurin said, grabbing everyone's attention. "It's meant to be an adaptable one, just in case….."

* * *

><p>Colten's breath quickened as he stood among the infantry at the front line. His dark grey eyes gazing forwards.<p>

_They were here._

The four armies came out of nowhere, and like lightning they crashed forwards, surrounding the Legions.

"For the hope of our families and people. For the hope of the North!" Shouted the Prince who was atop his horse in the front.

Halberd in hand, he gripped it tighter, waiting for the signal. Then it came.

"_For the Seven Kingdoms!_"

Like a Storm on the earth itself, the shield wall of the Legion moved _forward_.

* * *

><p>Elendil seeing the armies of the other factions charged, only to notice that there was one army that shouldn't be <em>there<em>. "What is going on?" He said to no one in particular, as his armies rushed forward.

_Too late_.

Similar things happened with all the Numenorian factions as they rushed, and slammed into an unknown assailant's army.

And thus began the Storm.

* * *

><p><strong><em>Frontline.<em>**

"For the Seven Kingdoms!" Thurin shouted, hand reaching, and unsheathing his blade.

_And the charge began._

As the army charging from the front came upon the Legions. The Legionnaire crossbows hummed as the air was filled with hails of bolts. The Legion's Catapults launched its contents upon the four armies, hitting them from all their sides.

But the front army reached the shield wall, which split in half, allowing them to become wedged in-between them as the Halberd wielding Legions swung around and struck.

But the front line of the Legion seemed to waver as their line broke, and they retreated. The army in the front took their chances and slammed forward. Instantly they were set upon by the Legions Cavalry, curved Halberds came up, and swung down.

Instantly the Cavalry was gone, disappearing in the onslaught as the Legions crossbowmen appeared out of nowhere, launching hail after hail of bolts upon the hordes. And then the Cavalry came back, striking at the front army once more.

On either side, lines of Cavalry burst out from the Legions, hemming in the front army like cattle. Reconverging the Legion came together once more, and the shield wall was unbroken.

* * *

><p><strong><em>Left Sideline.<em>**

The left side of the Legions took a different approach, and rushed forwards, slamming their Halberds into the enemy's ranks as hail upon hail of bolts hummed out from the crossbows.

The shield wall split, and allowed the army to fall into the gap, before unleashing hails of bolts upon them.

Then they slammed forwards with their Halberds. Bodies fell, soaking the ground in crimson brilliance as the Legions smashed with all the might, launching hails off Javelins upon them.

Robb Stark led the onslaught as he flung into combat, and reformed in the Legions line quickly, watching as the shield war came up once more, he listened as roars of triumph came from the Legionaries.

"Now!"

Storm upon earth indeed.

* * *

><p>Elendil rushed forwards, not bothering to think where he was going as he smashed through the strange weapons.<p>

After what felt like hours, he stopped.

Not five feet away stood the huge form of Gorthaur.

Elendil froze, staring at the gargantuan mace in Gorthaur's right hand, and the gigantic sword in the left.

Gorthaur didn't wait for an attack to come from the Last Lord of _Andúni._ He was a Maiar, one of the Ainur. He was once the servant of Melkor, the First Dark Lord, and so he charged towards Elendil with a wild laugh of elation.

He was also a lot _faster_ than he _looked_….a lot faster than he _looked_.

Gorthaur literally appeared in front of Elendil before he could even react. Slamming his mace into Elendil's stomach, sending him skidding backwards, before he pitched forwards, head butting Elendil on the head with a sickening crack. Gushes of blood cemented the notion that his nose had been broken.

Isildur came from behind the Second Dark Lord, slamming forwards with a strike.

But the Ainur was faster than he looked.

With a swift pivot he twisted around, his huge sword blocking the strike, and his left hand lashed out and grabbed Isildur's shoulder.

Isildur's stomach lurched as Gorthaur lifted him clear over his head and _threw him_. Gorthaur whirled around, hand grabbing Elendil's and pushing it downwards, before flinging him around and then throwing him onto Isildur.

Instantaneously Gorthaur moved and swung his mace against the approaching hordes of soldiers, not caring as they were sent flying.

Anárion came up behind him, slicing his sword straight through.

It didn't even _tickle_.

He whirled around and battered the man aside, before turning around and grabbing Isildur's wrist mid strike.

_All too easy._

He launched him straight over his head, watching as Isildur's strike cut through some poor chaps face.

Gorthaur craned his head slightly, giving the three men of Numenor a wide, elated grin.

"_Ready for round two?_"

* * *

><p>Tar-Míriel dashed forward, her blade cleaving someone in half before she twisted it in the air, whirling it around and beheaded another.<p>

The battle was a frenzy of killings, of death and destruction.

The thrill of battle seeps into her as she brought her sword up, before bringing it down and slicing someone in half from the head down.

She swung around, her jagged blade cleaving through another person, but another attacked from behind her, and she lurched as she careened.

She stopped, eyes glowing as she leashed her hand around a person's neck, not bothering to listen as a resonating _snap_ sounded in the air.

"Press on!" She shouted as she brought her sword down on another one.

Her eyes saw Gorthaur in the distance, and she took her chance, thundering forwards in an attack.

_But the Maiar was not a normal being, and Ainur shouldn't be underestimated._

* * *

><p>"I Elendil Amandilson call a parley!"<p>

And just like that the battle was over…..

_For now._

**_Here is day one of the battle covered. I hope you my readers enjoyed it. I write this as I go, so forgive me if there are any mistakes. _**

**_This chapter has been edited, but there is probably more mistakes, sorry. I've been trying to edit them as quickly as possible, so chapter three's isn't as hugely changed as Chapter ones, or Chapter 2. Only a couple extra battle parts in the scens in this._**

**_Please review, I want as many as I can get._**


	4. A Beginning of the True Storm

**Rewritten. Extra battle scenes, better spelling, extra etc.**

**_Chapter 4. A Beginning of the True Storm._**

_Flashback._

_Day One of the War of Six Armies._

Colten's breath stopped as he felt a sword stab through his stomach. His mouth curled in pain as he whirled around and brought his halberd to bare on the _tall_ man.

He stepped back, trying to breathe, before whipping around and breaking a tall man's neck. The man snapped to the floor crookedly.

_Dead_.

_He was killing people_.

He slowly started to hyperventilate as he brought his Halberd to bear once more. He heard a sickening _crack_ sound in the air.

'_So this is war._' He shuddered, before whipping around and slamming his Halberd down onto another of the tall men.

He grimaced as he ran forwards. Twirling his Halberd like a quarter staff and slamming down several of his enemies.

_And the storm continued._

* * *

><p>Thurin smashed his sword down on his foe, whirling around he did the same to any that came near.<p>

"Charge!" He shouted as he combated several of the enemies.

In the distance he saw a gigantic man fighting of three enemies, his eyes turned to his blade, then back to the man.

He dashed towards the monstrous man.

* * *

><p>Ar-Pharazôn's eyes stared calmly at the chess board, he smirked as he moved a piece. His eyes turned to look at his Herald, who nodded, and blew the horn.<p>

His eyes turned to stare at the battle at hand, looking at the unknown army's tactics.

He'd nether seen anything like it before.

But his tactical eyes knew just how to counter the threat. He was Ar-Pharazôn the Golden after all, one of the greatest General's in the history of Numenor.

His warrior mind analysed the layout of the battlefield, and a small smirk appeared on his face.

_Elendil_.

Elendil was one of the few Numenorian's who could equal him in combat and skill.

It was a perfect challenge.

It was time for him to loosen his muscles.

It had been far too long.

_Far, far too long._

His eyes found the chess board one more, and he moved a single piece.

_Check_.

* * *

><p>Gorthaur roared in elation as he slapped the coming blade of Tar-Míriel's, his blade slammed into the woman's stomach, and he brought his pommel up, and slammed it into her face, he didn't bother to wait for her to drop to the floor in pain, his hand lashed out instantaneously, leashing onto Isildur and flinging the seven foot tall man several yards away.<p>

He swung, his sword meeting Elendil's own blade, again and again countering through the winds of the storm.

The warrior within him that had been locked away for so long roared in delight as he twisted his sword, and flicked it in the same motion, and swung, battering both Elendil and Anárion away, not bothering to watch the two skid away he spun, digging his sword into some poor chaps flesh, not sparing the blood a glance he flung his mace into the air, freeing his right hand, and snapped it forwards, a resounding snap from the man's neck sounded in the air as he crumpled to the floor.

_Dead_.

He spun, blade meeting Tar-Míriel's like lightning, he roared as he pushed her back with his strength alone. He laughed in malicious glee as he kicked her, not watching her careen, he whirled, and brought his sword down on Isildur, who had had tried to sneak up behind him.

He turned to the side impossibly, blocking Elendil's attack. Then he kicked.

_All too easy._

* * *

><p>Rowan roared, his hammer smashing someone's face into mush as he dashed and brought it down on another's. He saw Thurin in the distance dashing towards a huge man, and his eyes stopped to stare at his hammer.<p>

He shrugged as he dashed to get to the Princes side.

He was closer to the gigantic man, and so he struck.

* * *

><p>Gorthaur whirled around, his blade meeting the onslaught of Rowan's hammer, the screeching metal met the strange, bone like scrapping of Gorthaur's blade.<p>

Gorthaur wasn't finished with the fight just yet, the unbelievable thrill rushed through him, he knew just how much he had to hold back to keep the battle interesting. He leered as he slammed his sword back down against Rowan's hammer.

Rowan cursed from the sheer force of the blow as he stepped back slightly, before driving the counter weight of his huge hammer into Gorthaur's ribs.

Only for Gorthaur to laugh. "You seem pretty old, is arthritis catching up to you? I left myself wide open and it barely tickled."

Rowan roared as he slammed his hammer forward, but every blow was turned aside or avoided, every swing just wasted energy as the Ainur purred at the mere human's attempts.

"I've had enough of this little game." Was all the warning Rowan gut as Gorthaur's gigantic sword slammed into his stomach. Rowan gasped in pain as he rasped, his breath halting, he brought his hammer down once more before retreating.

Rowan would be lying if he said that the blow didn't hurt, even with Mithril armour….

His eyes looked down and he gasped.

Gorthaur had ripped his Mithril armour to _shreds_ from sheer _strength_.

Fear elapsed into his gaze as he turned to find Gorthaur spinning around and fighting the other people.

"Rowan!"

Thurin had come at last.

* * *

><p>Tar-Míriel traded blows with Elendil as they hit again and again. The two enemies spun, smashing their swords against one another.<p>

A laugh sounded in the air.

Whirling around the two brought their swords too bear upon Gorthaur's armour.

To the Ainur's credit he didn't even wince as his blood slowly slipped out.

He merely smashed his free hand against the two and flung them both away, before bringing his free hand in the air, catching the mace he had thrown in the air just _seconds ago_.

He purred as his sword met Isildur's and Anárion's onslaught, he brought his mace down upon them, smashing them away as he turned, and roared as his blade met a mere boy's.

His mouth curled in elation_. "How about round three?"_

* * *

><p>Elendil spun in mid-air as his blade met Tar-Míriel's own, trading blows he smacked her aside with his huge hands.<p>

To the Queen's credit she merely grunted.

She snapped her sword forward, meeting him blow for blow, proof of her station as daughter of the Last True King of Numenor.

She swung, countering his attack, and snaked her hand out that had grabbed a dagger. Brutally he leashed his free hand onto hers, and a resounding snap sounded and he kicked.

She grunted out in pain as she skirted back several feet, before swinging herself in a lurch, their blades met, rendering extreme forces up both of their arms.

She stepped back, breathing heavily.

She then gracefully swung her blade in the air, countering his next blow and pushing it to the side, and brought her own hand up to grab Narsil's hilt.

_Too late._

_The Last Lord of_ _Andúni brought his free hand up once more, and grabbed her before throwing her to the ground, before spinning and rushing to combat Gorthaur once more._

_"I'm sorry." He said before disappearing._

* * *

><p>Ar-Pharazôn walked on the field, killing anyone who dared to step into his path.<p>

_It was time._

He had all of the armies where he wanted them.

They had fallen into his trap.

He gave the signal.

And the Airships of Numenor appeared and roared within the wind like a storm.

His eyes turned and found Elendil once more.

And a storming smile showed on his face.

* * *

><p>Colten gasped as he saw ships <em>flying<em>.

It wasn't….it shouldn't be _possible_.

But it was happening before his eyes.

_And like a storm thousands died._

* * *

><p>Thurin's eyes glared into Gorthaur's as he held his blade still with all of his might, trying to keep it in place.<p>

If only he still had the power and strength he once had as Turin Turambar.

"What's this? A mere boy has come to combat me?" Gorthaur laughed in malicious, elated glee.

"_Don't underestimate me._" Thurin said darkly, his hand moving forwards and grabbing Gorthaur's mace hand, stopping it from hitting him.

"Oh? I wouldn't dare, don't worry boy." Gorthaur replied, leering as he slowly put more strength behind his arms, and _pushed_.

Thurin was slowly losing ground, gasping he smashed his head into Gorthaur's stomach.

It took barely a second for Gorthaur to realize he'd seen the helm before, but from where he didn't remember. But he grunted, he one of the first Ainur, _grunted_.

He didn't like that helm he decided.

He kicked Thurin backwards before whirling around to attack the others.

Only to freeze in laughter.

Elendil, Isildur, Anárion, were all locked in combat against Tar-Míriel, she was countering as much as she could. "Did you all forget about me?" Gorthaur asked darkly.

The four Numenorian's spun and smashed their blades towards him.

He grunted as he brought his huge blade down and blocked all of their attacks, before bringing his mace down upon them.

Only for Thurin to sneak up behind him and stab Gurthang into his spine.

To the Ainur's credit he merely grunted as he twisted at an impossible angle and smashed the boy away. Before whipping his head back round so fast that a deep _snap_ sounded.

His blade moved to the side, and he countered the four legendary warriors blow for blow.

"Now this is finally getting fun!" He purred, leering as he roared.

* * *

><p>Thurin grunted as he gasped out in pain.<p>

He hadn't fought someone like this in a long, long time.

That was back during his days as Turin, but those days were long gone.

Now all he had was shattered left overs.

Absentmindedly he realized that the Helm of Hador, the helm that had protected him from pain up till now, had been flung of his head.

He was vulnerable now.

And with a sinking feeling he dashed to attack the monster of a man.

* * *

><p>Ar-Pharazôn dashed towards the occupied Elendil, and smacked him away from his Chief Advisor. "It's been a long time, hasn't it? Elendil."<p>

Elendil got up and glared at the Usurper. "Pharazôn." He said angrily.

"Let's finish this chit chat and get started, nay?" Ar-Pharazôn said, grabbing his sword and hammer in a dual stance.

"It's been too long since I had to fight like this." Said Elendil, grabbing a dagger long since thought lost.

_Angrist_.

The battle between two of Numenor's best had begun.

* * *

><p>Gorthaur gazed at the King of Numenor and the Lord of <em>Andúni, <em>before whipping it to the side.

"It appears round three is over, how bout round four?" He asked with a mad, leering grin.

To the three Numenorian's credit, they merely sighed in tiredness.

Thurin groaned as he readied his sword.

Gorthaur stared, before dashing forwards.

_Then the battle continued._

* * *

><p>Jon Snow led the Legions to safety alongside Theon and Robb, trying to save as many as they could.<p>

"What the hell is that?" Theon said in horror as they all stared at the flying ships.

"I don't know." Jon said tiredly.

_So many had died._

"We've somehow saved ourselves and the Legions from those…..ships. But this isn't over, we must regroup. Where is Rowan?" Robb said, his own gaze singed with tiredness.

"He and Thurin disappeared in battle." Answered Durnak, having walked up to the three.

_So many were gone._

"How many men are left?" Jon finally asked.

_So many will no longer see the sunrise._

"20 thousand." Durnak answered.

_So many dead._

Jon stared at the desolate landscape once more, before nodding.

'_I have to do something, and quick_."

* * *

><p>Elendil brought Narsil down upon Ar-Pharazôn's hammer, and blocked the coming sword blow with Angrist.<p>

The fight had begun.

Elendil surged forwards, his head smashing against the King, before stepping back slightly, and then slamming his entire body forward.

It had been a long time since either men of Numenor had, had to fight like this.

Ar-Pharazôn merely grunted as he skidded back several feet, before jumping towards Elendil, who did the same.

The two passed by each other with a clash of steel, the force of the swings moving up both of their arms. Both gritting their teeth, they flung through the air, lurching away.

Elendil righted himself and landed in a semi crouch, before spinning around and blocking Ar-Pharazôn's sword strike and hammer that seemed to appear from nowhere to others eyes. Both weapons glimmered as they each sought their flesh.

They back flipped back, before crashing their feet against the ground and forcing themselves forwards against each other in the air once more.

Their blades clashed and clashed as they traded blows, Elendil grunted has he brought his sword down on Pharazôn's own.

"It's been too long hasn't it? We are really out of practice aren't we? Eh Elendil?" Said Ar-Pharazôn before he stepped back and smashed his weapons down on Elendil.

* * *

><p>Colten breathed a sigh of relief, even if for a single moment, he and the rest of the Legions were getting a break from the onslaught.<p>

_In the Legion any moment may be your last._

He shivered, before seeing Rowan in the distance, about to be killed.

His eyes turned to his weapon, and then back to Rowan.

_He charged_.

* * *

><p>Elendil grunted tiredly as he brought his sword to bear, countering the blows and stepping back.<p>

His breath quickened as he smashed his sword against Ar-Pharazôn's hammer and brought Angrist up to block Aranrúth.

He growled as he slowly, ever so slowly started to gain the edge in strength.

He may have been out of practice, but his bones had been used more than Ar-Pharazôn's own.

He smashed his head against Ar-Pharazôn's and thundered backwards, he sheathed Narsil and Angrist, grabbing a Halberd and threw it before grabbing another, barely blocking the reappearing blade and hammer of Ar-Pharazôn.

He grunted as he used all his might to twirl the Halberd in his hand then he threw it also, unsheathing Narsil and Agnrist in the same motion, he appeared in front of Ar-Pharazôn and brought his two legendary weapons down upon the Usurper.

Ar-Pharazôn bit his lip in pain as he stumbled back, barely dodging Elendil's hits.

_Could he really be so out of practice?_

With a sinking feeling Ar-Pharazôn shook his head, and dashed to end the battle.

_He would win._

_No matter what._

He countered Elendil's blows in a frenzied state, roaring and rasping as he traded blows with the leader of the Faithful.

Elendil stared in surprise as he got smashed backwards by Ar-Pharazôn. Before schooling his features.

_Much was at stake._

_This can't go on._

"Our armies are almost spent, I call upon Numenorian tradition, as King you can't deny me. I ask for a parley." Elendil said.

Ar-Pharazôn hesitated, before sighing. "Very well."

"I Elendil Amandilson call a parley!" His voice boomed through the battlefield.

_Day one was finished._

_End of Flashback_

* * *

><p>Colten sat down in front of the fire, sitting with these….men of Numenor.<p>

"Want to play chess?" Asked Anárion Son of Elendil.

Colten nodded to the older man.

They had become friends during the break of the battle.

_Even though they knew that very soon….._

_They'd have to kill each other._

* * *

><p>Similar things happened across the camps, men talked and laughed around the fires of night, playing games or telling stories.<p>

Many no doubt were fearful of the knowledge, of the truth.

_Soon enough they would be killing each other._

* * *

><p>"Let's make a deal on our honour, after a day of battle an unbreakable parley must be enacted." Said Elendil, staring at the other leaders of the armies.<p>

Thurin and Rowan merely stared in suspicion of the other leaders, but said nothing.

Gorthaur laughed, "Don't care."

Ar-Pharazôn sighed, but nodded.

Tar-Míriel nodded in agreement.

The three leaders turned to Thurin and Rowan.

"Very well." The two said at the same time.

* * *

><p><em>Day Two of The Storm.<em>

This time there was no pleasantries, this time it was a frenzy of a battle.

And this time the leaders sought each other out.

_And men walked over corpses of those who they called friends nigh hours ago._

* * *

><p><strong><em>I'd like to have more reviews, maybe you can tell me what you think of the characters? Like the Numenorian leaders, Colten, and stuff?<em>**

**_The thing with the parley and how the armies began to become friends with each other, even knowing they had to kill one another was based upon stories my Great Grandfather use to tell my Grandmother. My Great Grandfather fought in World War 1, and similar circumstances happened._**


	5. The End of The Storm

**_Chapter Five. The End of the Storm._**

**_Reread previous chapters because they've been rewritten (revised, scenes have been added, changed etc.)_**

Jon Snow rushed through the frenzied onslaught, leading the main charge he broke through.

'Think! They have _flying ships_! How can we….' A ghost of a smile formed on his face.

He had a plan.

* * *

><p>"We never did get to finish round four, nay?" Laughed Gorthaur.<p>

Thurin turned to stare at the other three, they nodded in agreement.

Thurin's eyes stared at Gorthaur's own as he breathed in.

_Time seemed to stop in the frenzy._

Everything around him no longer registered as he dashed forwards, faster than he was yesterday.

_He'd regained more strength._

He roared within the winds as his sword met Gorthaur's, before he twisted under it, his sword stopped blocking and he brought it round to cut through Gorthaur.

Gorthaur purred as he pivoted, and brought his mace down on Thurin. **_"Ash Nazg Durbatulûk."_** He whispered as Thurin dodged.

He swung, blocking Anárion's hit before twisting and missing Isildur's attack by a thread. He let his feet of the ground, and moved over Tar-Míriel's strike, then dropped and dashed forwards _instantaneously_.

_So…..fast._

_Too fast._

**_"_****_Ash Nazg Gimbatul,"_** He said as he traded blows with the four fighters.

He spun as Thurin went to strike, passing harmlessly by cursed blade, his brought his hammer round and smashed.

Thurin dodged, flipping in the air and bringing his sword down upon Gorthaur's blade.

It _broke_.

Grothaur grunted as he dropped the shattered blade and jumped backwards. He stared at his mace, then stared back at them.

_He grinned as he discarded the mace._

He brought his fists up, and readied himself for the storm.

* * *

><p>Ar-Pharazôn traded blows with Elendil, Aranrúth against Narsil.<p>

Like the wind they attacked each other.

Ar-Pharazôn roared as he attacked, his blade banging against Elendil's own.

Elendil merely brought his hand up and _lifted_ _Ar-Pharazôn_ into the _air_, before crashing him to the side.

"Is that all you have? _Tar_-_Calion?" He asked dangerously._

Ar-Pharazôn's eyes flashed. "Don't you dare refer to me by that insulting name again!" He shouted.

"Why? Tar-Calion?" Elendil asked.

Ar-Pharazôn roared. "Gorthaur has gifted me with much power, I was hoping I didn't have to use it."

Elendil stared at him in confusion.

"Awaken," Whispered Ar-Pharazôn softly, "We have Maiar blood in our veins, no matter how small Elendil," He smirked, brandishing his teeth, "Gorthaur unlocked that power hidden deep within me."

Elendil's eyes went wide. He stepped forward to stop Ar-Pharazôn.

_But it was too late…._

_And the world roared!_

* * *

><p>A sword came up, and the foot that slammed into must of had the force of a mountain dropping because of the sheer force from the strike. Isildur cursed as he stepped back.<p>

Gorthaur merely roared and leapt forwards, bringing his fist forwards, and slamming it straight into Isildur's shoulder.

Isildur gasped as tiredness and pain arose within him as Gorthaur's foot came up and slammed into his blade, then Gorthaur's hand came up.

_So fast!_

Grunting, Isildur used every bit of strength in his bones to dodge….

_Too late._

Gorthaur's hand struck the small opening between the panels of Isildur's armour with pin point accuracy, and the sheer force behind his punch sent Isildur flying.

Gorthaur merely brought his foot down onto the ground.

_It erupted._

The entire ground rose up and exploded, roaring in the winds of the storm.

Anárion came, aiming to strike at Gorthaur's left wrist.

Gorthaur merely laughed in elated bloodlust as he spun, unnaturally twisting, lurching in a skidding halt his hand came a heartbeat away from snapping Anárion's throat.

Anárion growled, and delivered a savage uppercut unexpectedly, Gorthaur's blow merely hit his chest. Anárion swivelled up and moved to unleash a strike with his sword, but with ease Gorthaur slapped away the strike and punched.

_Fast….._

_Too fast._

Gorthaur's unbelievable, mountain rendering strikes struck Anárion ten times until the young warrior reeled and lurched backwards, gasping as he dropped his sword, not able to withstand holding it any longer.

Tar-Míriel rushed forward, hacking and striking with lumbering, powerful sword strikes that Gorthaur simply danced around, before delivering a powerful strike that rendered the ground once more.

Tar-Míriel stumbled backwards from the force of his blows, and Gorthaur's blows turned into a wild, feral, bloodlusted frenzy as his fists hammered against her armour, utterly rendering the steel ever so slowly into powdered dust.

She gasped as she brought her sword up, and with all her might she striked.

Only for Gorthaur to pivot swiftly, his fist coming into contact with her unprotected leg, rendering it almost completely unusable. Tar-Míriel screamed out in pain as she went to strike at her foe, only for her leg to make a sickening snap.

It had completely fallen out of her socket, if she had the air and time she'd still be screaming in pain, but instead she raised her sword at Gorthaur, stumbling as she readied a strike.

Gorthaur merely laughed as he battered her strike to the side effortlessly, turning just in time to see Thurin lunge at him with his cursed blade.

"**_Ash Nazg Thrakatulûk."_**

Gorthaur pivoted, one shoulder dipping low under the blade's swing, while the other turned, and came up in an uppercut that went straight through Thurin's right shoulder.

Thurin roared in pain as he cut his black blade straight through Gorthaur's chest, who merely grunted as they both stepped back.

Blood flowed freely from Thurin's wound, and the young boy fell to the ground.

Tar-Míriel dragged herself into a sitting position, cursing and shaking with the effort as every battered muscle within her body protested.

_One blow._

_All it had taken was a single blow._

Her legged throbbed and screamed in agony, her arms felt like jelly, her left wrist was broken, and she was certain that several of her ribs were broken.

_One blasted, damn blow._

She turned and saw a glint of poison coated steel, she picked it up, and with all her might stood and sliced it through Gorthaur's flesh unexpectedly.

And blood flowed onto the sand, basking it in _red_.

* * *

><p>Ar-Pharazôn dashed forwards and brought his sword up to strike, Elendil merely pivoted and battered the blade to the side, and then slashed his sword against Ar-Pharazôn's shoulder.<p>

Blood slipped down as Elendil whirled back, then dashed forwards and sliced again. "You will be severally disappointed if you think I haven't gotten stronger since yesterday. Tar-Calion." Elendil roared and, with regained strength from fighting continuously, Elendil stormed forwards with all his might, and slammed his sword down.

Ar-Pharazôn grunted as he brought his blade up and blocked, whirling to the side, he roared as he brought his sword down on Elendil's left arm.

_Blood dropped._

Elendil gasped as he lifted his left arm, allowing Ar-Pharazôn's sword to dig deeper in his flesh, then he grabbed it with a smile.

_Narsil came up._

_And like thunder and lightning, it slashed down._

* * *

><p>Jon Snow ran through the battlefield with a small squad of 100 Legionaries. Having left Robb and Theon in charge, he dashed.<p>

_There it was. _

He nodded to his men, and they stealthily sneaked into one of the flying ships.

_He'd use the enemies own weapon against them._

* * *

><p>Robb called the charge of the Cavalry, and spun and blew the horn.<p>

Then the shield-bearers wheeled round and enclosed the Infantry within, dropping down to one knee, and holding their shields as a defensive barrier, the men behind them grabbed the shields strapped to their backs and lifted them above their heads, creating a house like formation as a volley of bolts and arrows hailed through the wind.

They then marched, men in between them with their Javelins held out, ready to stab out and seek flesh.

_And a bloodbath followed._

* * *

><p>Colten was low in between the shield-bearers, his Javelin in his hand. His Javelin then began to flicker out in between the gaps and stab at the enemy, just like with the rest of the Legionaries.<p>

The front rank of the formation slowly edged forward, crowding the enemy and forcing them back. Now the second rank suddenly rushed forward under the shields, adding their weight and impetus to the men in front of them, the extra drive sent the Numenorians staggering back as flickering short swords and javelins stabbed at them.

Stepping over the bodies of the dead, a horn sounded across the field, and the second rank moved and turned in place so they were back to back with the front rank, and with a swift pivot, the front rank went to the left, while the second pivoted to the right. Within a second, the front rank had their respite and had been replaced, by the fresh second rank.

The former front rank passed back behind the third rank, who took their place as the new second rank.

Their short swords and javelins covered in blood in flesh, yet again flickered out in between the gaps, killing any near.

* * *

><p>Theon blew his own horn, calling upon the rows of Catapults to unleash upon the enemies hails of rocks.<p>

He rushed forward and joined the shield net formation. Grabbing a javelin, they launched them in the sky.

_And blood covered the ground._

* * *

><p>"<strong><em>Agh Burzum-ishi Krimpatul.<em>**" Gorthaur rasped as he walked forwards, watching as the blade slipped out.

'So this is my limit.' Gorthaur smiled.

_All according to plan._

'You've lost, Pharazôn.' He smirked, but then grunted, 'But it appears so did the other factions, I wonder who is the winner here?' He paused, then saw something in the distance that made him smile.

_It appears there is a victor._

Anárion came forward, brandishing his blade ready to swing.

Gorthaur merely stood, grinning as it _passed through him_.

The use of his current physical form was gone.

The limits to his power without the One was now known to him.

"Your chance to get rid of me has passed, son of Elendil." He whispered in his true form.

Anárion looked at him in anger and contempt, before growling. "I'll kill you! No matter what it takes Sauron!"

Gorthaur, once Mairon merely laughed in response. "You bark but you have no bite."

Isildur stood beside his brother, gritting his teeth.

"Don't worry, I shalt come ere again sometime, and we can continue this." Gorthaur replied to them.

"Good bye, descendants of Elros, you certainly gave me some fun." He whispered.

_Then he was gone._

* * *

><p>Robb smiled as he saw an airship fly by them and attack their enemies.<p>

Jon had been successful.

He blew the horn, calling for one last, gigantic charge.

_A charge that would decide the fate of the North._

_And like a colliding storm of six cyclones, the land was rendered with blood._

* * *

><p>Pharazôn gasped and choked.<p>

He was King!

He couldn't lose!

He was Ar-Pharazôn the Golden!

But he had lost….

Could he really have discarded his old strength from sitting down too long?

Elendil stood, raindrops falling down his face as Narsil rose.

"Tar you are no longer, Calion! Your doom is now!" Elendil's blade went down, seeking his flesh.

But it was for naught.

Gorthaur had come.

The prophet of Melkor had saved him.

Pharazôn was gone.

_And all that was left was the rain._

* * *

><p>Colten gasped as he stood, the formation breaking, making for one last charge.<p>

His Halberd in his hands once more, he ran.

And the enemies were routed.

The Legions had won.

He roared in relief and yet sadness.

They had won.

But they had lost so many.

_Too many._

He looked down, and tears of blood fell from his face.

Karrem, his friend lay dead.

His entrails were pooling out in the rain.

And his intestines were ripped apart.

_And blood soaked the ground, only to be flowed away by rain._

* * *

><p>Jon Snow breathed a sigh of relief as he saw that they had won.<p>

And he realized something.

He liked the Legion.

* * *

><p>Elendil gasped as he walked over to Míriel. "My sons say you worked alongside them."<p>

She stared at him, a frown on her face. "Only because of necessity."

"Allies?" He asked mournfully.

She contemplated him. "Very well."

He smiled ,the honour of a Numenorian would never let them go back on their words.

And so he walked, not seeing the scowl on her face.

She would betray them if she had to.

Her throne would be hers.

Numenorian honour can be dammed.

_Rain dropped, as if the world were crying._

**_Well, here is the fifth chapter and the rewrites of the other ones. I hoped you folks enjoyed it, so please review your thoughts on this one and the rewrites of the others._**


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